The Jam are the Office Block Persecution Affinity
by HalloweenJack138
Summary: In which Jim declares the office an independent and self ruling nation, Dwight launches a counter revolution, a national bird is chosen, Jim goes mad with power, things fall apart, come to an end, and Pam and Jim have a rather nice conversation about tea.
1. Village Green Preservation Society

_So... back with a heavyweight Jam (much sooner than I expected, too.) As always, reviews are greatly appreciated. Do please enjoy._

**Jim Halpert and Pam Beesly Are the Office Block Persecution Affinity: A desperate campaign for desperate times.**

**Phase ONE: "The Village Green Preservation Society"**

Jim, very slowly, as thought measuring out each word: If someone asked me two days ago if I thought I would be instigating a cultural revolution..._ in Scranton_...

He seems almost frozen in time as he grapples with the concept.

Jim, shaking his head in resignation: I don't know what I'd say.

It was an ambitious project and Jim and Pam were not known for being especially ambitious, unless there were special circumstances like, say, a really excellent opportunity to execute a truly beautiful prank, which this happened to be. Even now, as he casually watched her sifting her green teacup under her nose, he had to bite the insides of his cheeks to keep from bursting out laughing at the pure esoteric beauty of it all.

"Sometimes I think I brew tea just for the smell," she told him nostalgically. He had also thought there was something incredibly nostalgic to Pam. "I mean, I'll tell myself I'm just waiting for it to cool so I don't burn my tongue, but..." She looked up at him and realized that he was smiling in way disturbingly similar to the Joker or Aphex Twin. She was suddenly horribly self-conscious. "What?"

"Nothing," he said simply, nearly crying as he tried to himself hold back.

Her eyes expanded like oceans as she voiced her deepest fear. "Oh God, I sound like Dwight, don't I?"

Now he couldn't keep himself from laughing. "Not even slightly." He had always meant to ask her if she had adequately disinfected the tip of the teapot after Dwight had jammed it up his nostril, but he was confident the combination of fire and water the teapot encountered as a matter of course could kill even Schrute-germs and, anyway, the last thing he wanted was hang a lantern on the most glaring imperfection of his most visible gesture towards her.

"Then what?" She darted about, trying to locate what could possibly be so amiss with her person to generate such a reaction.

For his part, Jim's only response was a sly grin and shake of his head. "You'll see," he assured her, fighting the impulse to add a diabolical "they'll all see" afterward.

----

Jim: I have come up with... I don't want to call it a prank...

Jim serious-jims.

Jim: It's more a work of Art...

Pause.

Jim: That will make Dwight very unhappy...

Pause.

Jim: And I can only do it when I know Michael is going to be out of town for a while and Pam can't know about it ahead of time because...

He struggles with what he wants to say.

Jim: ..._the part of my brain that came up with this didn't exist _before I met her... and...

Jim jim-shrugs.

Jim: ...I just really want her to be surprised by this one. I don't know.

----

As the day went on, Jim found himself spending more and more time nursing his idea in the back of his head. Drawing up hypothetical blueprints, adding windows and hardwood floors in his mind. New dimensions and new planes for it to interesect. He honestly tried to maintain his usual level of productivity (i.e., very little), but always his mind came back to his dream.

In his mind, he had already plotted it out as a film and convinced Wes Anderson to direct, knowing full well that he had effectively cast Luke Wilson as himself. (He accepted this. After all, _Legally Blonde_ wasn't really _that _bad. What he had seen of it, anyway.) The film would, of course, end with the prank falling apart, but his character would have grown in some charming quirky fashion and the whole experience would be richly nostalgic.

He allowed himself one of his regular wistful glances towards reception.

This was Pam's prank and he knew it.

He'd tried to write songs, poems, love letters... none of them seemed quite right for their relationship (or whatever it was). _This_ felt right.

So he did what he always did when he was at work and he was struck by something really important: he emailed the idea to himself (using only his personal email address, obviously, there was no way Michael could find out about _this_ one) and waited for the right moment.

----

Jim cast a glance across his desk to the Schrute across from him. Dwight was banging away on his keyboard with such fury that Jim was half-surprised that keys weren't flying through the air from the sheer pressure he was stabbing them with. "Hey, Dwight," Jim asked playfully, "who is your favorite revolutionary figure?"

"I do not have a favorite _terrorist_, Jim," Dwight did not even look up from his computer, though the rhythm of his pounding had slowed significantly, "and if you do, I'm sure my friends at the Lackawanna County sheriff's office would be happy to discuss it with you."

Jim cocked his head and smiled, this was exactly what he had been looking for. "Well, not every revolutionary is a terrorist... what about George Washington? Thomas Paine?"

Dwight gave the typical snort of contempt. "Terrorists."

Jim's eyes went a tad wider. "Really?"

"The Boston Tea Party was an act of terror," Dwight said stated blankly as he cleaned his glasses with his tie. "No one has the right separate from their own government." After a pause of a greater length than he was probably aiming for, Dwight added "that's why we had the Civil War."

Jim tried to hold himself back, but he just wasn't strong enough. "You realize we wouldn't have had the Civil War if we hadn't broken away from England in the first place?"

Dwight clearly hadn't taken this into account, but choose not to admit defeat. "I meant the one in Marvel Comics," we muttered lamely.

Jim didn't see how that negated his point on any level, but opted to let Dwight have that one. "So, what would you have done to the Founding Fathers?"

"Strung them up," Dwight said with smug certainty. "Same as any other terrorist."

Jim responded with the typical "jim-nod," then let the silence set in for a moment.

As soon as Dwight resumed his angry typing, Jim spoke again. "So... what are you working on?"

Dwight froze. "Paper... sales..."

Jim nodded again. "Oh... I've heard of that."

"Right," Dwight croaked pathetically.

Jim merely waved his hand to indicate that Dwight should continue.

As soon as the sounds of typing began once more, Jim leaned over his desk to get a look at Dwight's computer. "Let me just see..."

"No, Jim!" Dwight cried as covered his screen with his left hand while his right tried to push Jim back. "No!"

Back at her desk, Pam shook her head and tried to get back to work.

----

Jim, thoughtfully: I wonder how my lawyer will feel about me using comedy as a defense when they put me on trial for treason...


	2. Different Class

**Phase TWO: Different Class**

Jim: Maybe Scranton doesn't seem like revolution country, but...

----

Pam had been having a rough time of it lately.

That, really, was the origin of Jim's vision.

On Valentine's (of all days!) she had discovered Roy had destroyed the large box containing many of her childhood drawings during the accident several weeks earlier with the Hibachi and the blowtorch. This discovery had left Pam so distracted, she had slipped the next day at the office and earned herself a nasty gash across the forehead. Dwight had, of course, leapt to the rescue; he still insisted that it was only his quick response time that had saved her, but she later told Jim that his efforts had almost cost her an eye.

Jim (always the first to be struck by an injustice, at least where Pam was concerned) was struck by the sheer injustice of it. And, as with any problem of any stripe that might occur in Pam's life, he took it upon himself to deliver a winning solution.

He just had to wait for the right time to launch his plan.

----

It had been a typical slow morning at the Scranton branch of Dunder-Mifflin. Although it was nearly eleven, Michael had yet to make an appearance, which was neither unusual nor entirely unwelcome. Productivity was virtually nil, but still measurably higher than when Michael was in the office, and Jim felt wholly justified in creeping over to Pam's desk for a few jelly beans.

"So, what are you up to?" he asked, his features shifting into a shy half-smile without having the common decency to ask first.

"I've been reading random pages on Wiki," Pam admitted, fairly ashamed at the direction her life and career seemed to have swerved to while she was asleep at the wheel.

This sounded miles more interesting than anything Jim had going on at the moment."Find out anything interesting?"

Pam wrinkled her nose, not entirely certain herself. "Apparently Corey Hart turned down the role of Marty McFly"

"_Wow.._." Jim gasped, both impressed and amazed but this surprise revelation, "that would have been a much better movie."

Pam raised a dubious eyebrow at this comment. "You're putting a lot of faith in Corey, aren't you?"

"Pam, you've got it made with the guy in shades," he replied as though this should be obvious.

Pam couldn't help but laugh.

----

Pam: Have you gotten that feeling like you just want to hear new music.. but you don't really know what?

She looks to the camera for some sort of recognition.

Pam: Like there's this great band in your mind, but you don't know who they are or what they really sound like? And you just keep digging and digging, but nothing seems right...

She lets the silence hang for a moment.

Pam: And then I'll just hear this amazing song out nowhere and I have to ask Jim what it is.

She smiles.

Pam: He always knows.

----

When Jim found his way back to his desk, Dwight had once again been hammering down on his keyboard. When he noticed Jim's approach, Dwight's hands had instinctively flown to shield the precious secrets enshrined on his computer screen from the tainted eyes of the infidel Halpert, but it was for naught. Jim was too caught up in his own thoughts to pay much attention to Dwight, much less insult him in earnest.

Of course, Dwight immediately remedied that particular deficiency.

"What were you two talking about?" The suspicion in Dwight's was a dripping constant, like the leak in the ceiling of the bedroom Jim had grown up in.

"Nothing you'd care about," Jim answered coldly.

"I know you two are planning something," Dwight insisted.

"Now, how could you know that?" Jim asked the question while managing to sound completely disinterested in the answer. He was more than a little proud of that.

"Because you two are always planning something," Dwight hissed.

Jim couldn't in all honesty deny this, so he merely shrugged in mute agreement.

"So, what's the secret?" Dwight asked grubbily.

"I'm pregnant and you're the father," Jim answered, his face blank of any emotion.

Dwight gave him the regular snort of disgust. He might have even called Jim "girl" again, Jim wasn't quite sure.

"I'm sorry," Jim trailed on, "I didn't want you to find out this way..."

"Until Michael gets here, I am the ranking staff member of this branch," Dwight growled angrily.

Jim did his best to interrupt this line of thinking. "Dwight, just because _you _decide you're the ranking staff member..."

But, alas, trying to stop Dwight was like standing in front of a speeding steam-powered train, albeit with slightly messy results. "I have a right to know what everyone in this office is talking about."

But Jim knew Dwight so well it left him sweaty, sobbing, and unable to sleep, and thus more than able to find another escape route. "So, what are you doing on your computer, anyway?" As impossible as it sounded, Dwight actually seemed to get paler and more reptilian at the comment. "Are you IMing your Trekkie buddies or something?"

"I broke away from the Trekkies years ago," Dwight had tried to mask himself by increasing his level of hostility, but Jim could see that he had successfully left him rattled.

"Really?" Jim was more than a little tickled with the reaction he had been able to provoke, but decided to ease up somewhat in the interest of prolonging Dwight's overall agony.

Dwight nodded curtly. "I got into a flamewar over the Universal Translator," he explained, his voice assuming a wormish cast.

----

Jim: Any time Dwight has a secret, I try my best to torture him with it as much as I can, but I never try to find out what it is.

Pause.

Jim: Because I'm always happier not knowing.

----

"Dunder-Mifflin, this is Pam."

"Hi, this is Colonel Sanders," the high-pitched, creaking voice on the other end said between giggles, "do you have crispy thighs?"

"Hi, Michael," Pam replied in bored frustration.

"Heeey, Personal Pam Pizza," Michael breezed, apparently not too bothered about his joke being shot down before really getting off the ground, "could you put me on speaker?"

Pam complied and soon Michael's voice filled the entire office like a poison gas. "Everyone, this is your fearless leader. I'm afraid I won't be able to join you today." There was a collective sigh of relief from all present except Dwight.

"What's wrong Michael?" Dwight broke in. "Are you sick? Do you need me to take care of you? I can bring soup."

"No, no." Somehow Pam could hear Michael shaking his head violently over the phone. "Just some business with Corporate. You know how it is... blah blah blah..." now Pam could see Michael miming sock-puppets with his hands. Not for the first time, she was moved to nausea by how well she had come to know her boss. "I actually might be here for..." at that point Michael could clearly be heard speaking to someone in the background and Pam distinctly heard childish giggling "... two, maybe three days." The shoulders of all those gathered seemed to raise a few inches all around, again with only one notable exception. "Until I get back, Jim is in charge."

Before Dwight could raise his voice in protest, the connection was severed and the usual harsh sting of a dial tone, now strangely melodic, cut through the air.

Jim couldn't believe it, he had thought he might have to wait weeks or months to spring his plan into place, now a scenario more perfect than any he could have ever contrived had simply fallen in to his lap. He briefly considered the similar circumstance that had surrounding every other successful revolution in history as he leapt onto the couch and demanded attention. "Okay. As the ranking staff member of this branch," Jim announced in the loftiest tone he found himself capable of, "I hereby declare this office a separate and sovereign state, with all rights of self-governance and... something."

Pam offered up an exuberant smile while most of his coworkers merely looked bored.

Dwight saw this as an excellent opportunity to fly into a rage. "You don't have the authority!"

"No, I'm sorry, but this is well within my powers," Jim replied in an appropriately diplomatic tone. "Pam, if you could please design the flag and the money."

A wave of sudden patriotism ran through Pam as she agreed. "I'll have the rough drafts for you by lunch."

----

Jim, grinning boyishly: I could not be happier with the way this revolution is going.


	3. Modern Life Is Rubbish

_Thanks to everyone who read this one, it was a noble experiment and I have only the highest praise for all three of you._**  
**

**Phase THREE: Modern Life Is Rubbish**

Dwight: Jim has launched a revolution in the office. Why? The same reason anyone starts a revolution: because they're wrong and they're evil.

Dwight shakes his head in contempt.

Dwight: Jim's revolution was successful only because he struck while the King was away.

He smiles evilly at the camera.

Dwight: So what am I going to do?

----

Fearing the repercussions should his betrayal become known to Jim and his followers, Dwight opted to make his phone call to Corporate on his mobile phone from the ladies' restroom in the Denny's down the street. He was certain this was the best choice as Jim seemed less likely to be willing to track him for the last leg of the journey. Jim was, after all, an idiot.

When he finally got through to Jan's secretary Sherry, he demanded that she interrupt the meeting Jan was taking with Michael and the other managers, what he had to say was so important Michael would want to hear it right away. it was that important.

"Jan isn't in a meeting," the voice on the other end was slow and tired, as if addressing a child who had kept her up all night attempt to transmogrify her, "and Michael isn't in the building, either."

This gave Dwight reason too pause. He had assumed that Michael's reason for being absent was genuine, but... perhaps he and Jan were off somewhere making coitus. "Is _Jan_ in her office?" he asked with what he was certain was subtlety.

"Yes, she is," Sherry replied curtly.

Dwight could feel his face collapse into itself like a supernova. So much for that lead. "May I speak to Jan?"

There was a pause on the other end like Transatlantic telephone call. "Who did you say this was again?"

"_Dwight._ _Schrute_."

It seemed the first pause was unavailable, but was kind enough to send a slightly larger relative in its place. "From Scranton?"

"Where else," Dwight smiled lizard-like.

The largest pause in the family, a decorated military hero of no small renown, made his entrance only to introduce the curiously rapid reply "Jan's in a meeting."

"But you just said..." Dwight tried argue, but was greeted by another of the many dial tones he had made the acquaintance of over the years.

----

Dwight: Now I know where Michael _is not._

He smiles and nods his head with the confidence that only comes from being utterly clueless.

Dwight: Which gets me one step closer to finding out where he _is._

----

"Okay," Jim addressed his collected female coworkers, "the Party Planning Committee will be undergoing a little realignment," he cut long strides across the conference room, but it was less nervous pacing than surveying his territory like some great jungle cat. "From now on you will be know as the Party and you guys will meet regularly to discuss the laws."

"I absolutely refuse to be a part of this immaturity," Angela hissed with an air of moral superiority. After a pause, she added "and I want to be judicial."

There was something about the idea of putting Angela in charge of law and order that removed all desire in Jim to ever sleep or eat ever again. "No..." he rebutted quickly "...I'm sorry legal matters will be decided by a tribunal made up of Pam..." he looked out the window into the office and searched wildly for absolutely anyone. "...Stanley and... um... Creed?" Recovering quickly (to do otherwise would be to grant Angela an opening) he turned to address Pam with mock pomp. "Needless to say, you'll have to step down from the Party. I hope you can make that sacrifice."

The smile that illuminated Pam's face than was composed of equal parts gratitude and amazement. "I understand," she said simply.

"Excellent," Jim nodded in a manner he hoped seemed stoically political.

----

Dwight, speaking very rapidly as he makes his way through the building: Clearly, what Michael would want me to do now is trying to bring Jim's revolution down from the inside. So, I'm going to go back to the office and bide my time.

----

Dwight strode purposely into the room and was nearly in his chair when Pam's voice called him back to reception. "Excuse me, sir!"

More than a little confused, Dwight made slowly retracted his steps. "What?"

"I'm sorry, sir," Pam was doing her very best to keep her voice completely even, going so far as to bite her inner lip to stave of the impulse to laugh or smile, "but I'm going to need to see your passport."

Dwight reacted in typical Dwight fashion. "I don't have a passport. Why would I want to go to another country?"

"I'm sorry, sir," Pam continued, barely able to keep from breaking, "but we've had an influx of insurgents lately and I'm afraid I can't allow any undocumented persons into the country."

"This is ridiculous," Dwight fumed, "I've been working here for years."

"I'm sure you can understand that there's been a change in power here lately," Pam nodded without sympathy, "and we need to take certain measures to ensure stability."

Dwight stood in silence, seemingly absorbing Pam's words and the message behind them... than started running for the perceived safety of his desk.

"Security!" Pam cried out. "Security!" And Dwight immediately changed directions and disappeared out of the office, despite the fact that he should ostensibly be aware that there should be no security member within earshot.

"Nice work," Jim smiled as he approached the desk, perhaps a bit more in love with Pam than he had been mere seconds ago.

"Thank you," Pam tried in vain to fight the slight blush that was suddenly coloring her cheeks. "I've been working on the money, too," she explained as she handed him a few rough sheets of paper.

There was a caricature on the bill: a great, thin-faced man with massive lips and a nose like a squalshed fruit. "Who is this guy?"

"That's you," Pam answered, sounding perhaps a bit disappointed that he hadn't known instinctively.

"_I'm_ on the money?" For Jim this was (perhaps understandably) an unexpected revelation. Unlike George Washington, he had never dreamed of seeing his face on any form of currency.

"Of course," this also seemed to Pam like it should have been obvious.

Again Jim cast his eyes towards his cartoon doppelgänger. While she had unquestionably exploded his physical imperfections, she hadn't been cruel in doing so. In fact, in his mind, it was an affectionate portrait, with a hint at something undefinable in her gentle lines.

That's what he told himself, anyway.

"Nice," he decided, earning him another thousand-watt smile from Pam.

----

Pam waves the flag she hastily painted on an old white sheet as Jim stands boldly in front it, looking like nothing so much as a the Fifties Superman or a World War II plea to buy bonds.

Jim, with stoic, square-jawed masculinity: England made me.

Pam bursts into a fit of laughter so powerful that she loses her grip on the flag, which proceeds to cover Jim like a low-budget ghostie.


	4. Vauxhall and I

**Phase FOUR: "Vauxhall and I"**

Dwight: The problem with Jim's country?

Pause.

Dwight: Let me put it to you this way: every time you try to break away from the government that raised you, you always end up a tyrant. Look at Gandhi.

He gives the old knowing smile and nod.

Dwight: Jim might start out as a hero to his people, but... absolute power has a way of corrupting the _weak_...

Dwight treats us all to one of his smuggest and most frog-like smirks.

Dwight: ...And that sounds like Jim to me.

----

Pam was staring into the hallway like a kitten waiting for a mouse. She knew Dwight was going to pop into focus again, it was just a matter of waiting for the moment to come.

Jim approached her desk cautiously. "Is he still out there?"

"I think he went out to his stairway and right now he's hiding in the elevator, but..." Her voice was curiously tentchy and he knew she must have been putting a lot of effort into securing the border. Jim couldn't help but feel a little guilty for what he was about to tell her.

"Let him back in," he said simply.

Pam's eyes and mouth expanded in what could only be described as surprised betrayal, keeping Dwight out of the office had taken up most of her afternoon. "I thought that..."

The hurt little girl tone in her voice ripped the heart and lungs out of Jim's torso and thrust them sharply into a vise. He interrupted her rather than have to listen to another word of it. "It's just..." he paused, trying to find the write turn of the phrase, "...I feel like we should be making some goodwill trips to our neighbors..."

Pam could feel the smile being spread into existence across her visage. "International diplomacy."

Jim caught her smile in flight and served her back one of his own. "Precisely."

"We should start with a sightseeing tour of the State of Pennsylvania," she said playfully.

"I think that's an excellent idea, Pam," he replied in his loftiest available tone, "except Pennsylvania isn't a state, it's a Commonwealth."

She knew Jim was correct in this correction, but this brought back one of the key failures of the various Civics classes over the years. "What's the difference?"

This seemed like the sort of question Jim ought to furrow his brow for, so he did so. After a few moments of serious brow-furrowing, he was forced to admit "I don't know... but I know our grandfathers fought for it."

Pam shook her head. "I hate you."

Jim shrugged, having taken this as a given long ago.

----

Pam: "What is my position in Jim's government?"

Pause.

Pam: Well... I'm a judge and I'm _kind_ of like the Vice President...

She thinks about it a little more.

Pam: I guess I'm sort of First Lady, too... not that I'm married to Jim, because...

There is a here a pause of a different type.

Pam: Um...

----

"Now, this is so everyone knows you're a visiting dignitary," Pam explained as affixed the thin strand of banner paper across Jim's torso.

Jim glanced down and read the words that she had quickly, yet artfully across the sash. "'El Presidente,'" he quoted. "Do I get one of those paper Burger King crowns, too?"

"No," Pam corrected sternly, "because you aren't the king, you're the _president_."

"Right," Jim nodded. He wasn't sure when he became _anything_; when he started this experiment he hadn't factored his own role into the equation at all. Still, if Pam said he was the President, he was the President.

She looked up from fastening the last paperclip and eyed him seriously. "You're not going mad with power are you, Halpert?"

"No."

"Because I would hate to have to launch a coup against you," she cautioned him.

"I would hate that, too," Jim conceded.

Jim tried to call his citizens to attention. "My fellow residents of Dundermifflokia," he began, trying his best to sound approachable, yet imperious. Most them didn't look up from the work, desktop games, or (in Kelly's case) instant message session. "I have an announcement to make as your Prime Minister."

"_Presidente_," Pam corrected.

"Right, sorry." Pam seemed to be correcting Jim with increasing frequency lately. He wondered if he could someway segue this newfound talent into a job revising the history of their proud nation. "Pam and I are going out for a quick diplomatic..." he dug through his mind for the appropriate word, but came up blank "...attaché?" Pam shook her head and looked him with frank bafflement. "Anyway, we're going out to get some cokes and bagels for everyone. In the meantime..." he searched the room briefly before deciding at random "...Oscar, you're President _pro tempore_."

"Oh, okay." Oscar was easy-going enough that he wasn't about to argue, especially when he noticed the ice-cold hate Angela was employing as she stared at him.

Safe in the knowledge that his kingdom was in good hands until his return, Jim picked up a thick stack of papers and wrapped his coat around his hand. "Are you ready to go?"

Pam smiled. "How could I possibly refuse an personal invitation from the President?"

"Well, obviously you couldn't," he replied. It was good to be the King, if only for a day.

No sooner were they in the hallway then they came across Dwight. As was to be expected, he was trying to remain unseen, sucking in his stomach more than could possibly be pleasant and straddling the door-jam to Vance Refrigeration.

"Hey, Dwight," Pam said casually.

"You can head on back if you want," Jim added in the same tone.

At first Dwight didn't acknowledge either one of them, but as he passed by Jim, Dwight was heard to snarl "who watches the Watchmen?"

Jim could only respond with standard jim-shrug and a quickening of pace. Any time Jim had qualms about what he was about to do to Dwight, Dwight himself was always there to encourage him to stay the course.

----

Dwight: Jim's an idiot. Not only did he let me back into his country, he left me alone in his country.

Dwight smiles insanely.

Dwight: And it is _never_ a good idea to be in the same country as Dwight Schrute.

----

"So," Pam asked as she buckled herself into the passenger seat of Jim's legendary Toyota, "what's this trip really about?"

"This trip is about our national bird," Jim replied, perhaps a little more wistful than she would have expected.

Pam had been raised to accept what she couldn't change, and since it didn't seem like a better explanation was forthcoming, she left it at that. After all, there were worse ways to spend an afternoon. "And you let Dwight back in the office because..."

Jim shrugged, and focused his attention on getting his car to start. It may have been among the top-rated American-made Japanese automobiles, but the car had been with him for a while and it had developed a few chronic ailments in that time.

"You know he's just going to try to ruin everything." Which was not to say that Pam had any faith in Dwight's ability to successfully destroy what she and Jim had built over the past few hours, but she liked to play the game.

Again, Jim shrugged. "As long as he doesn't go home." He wondered if a car could actually have colitis.

Then the engine finally gave a sputtering cough and roared back to life and Jim felt a little less distracted and a little more focused on the next phase. "Here," he said, handing Pam a pile of papers.

Pam eyed her new acquisition with wary disgust. "What's this?"

"_This_," Jim simultaneously smiling wickedly and pulling out of his parking space, "is what Dwight has been working on the past few days."

Pam read the work slowly, as though it might explode at any second. At first she was afraid reading in the car might make her carsick, but she soon realized that there was another, much more pressing nausea to worry about. "'Starbuck kissed Starbuck roughly and passionately, kneading her breats roughly while he messaged his massive...'" What little color she had instantly drained out of her cheeks. "Jim, what is this?"

"Well, I'm not an expert," he spoke with a markedly philosophical tone, "but I think it's a crossover fan fiction between _Battlestar Galatica_ and _Battlestar Galactica."_

_"_It's _pornographic,_" Pam gasped, less offended by the sexual content than its source.

"That it is, Pam," Jim agreed brightly. "That it is."

----

Pam: He misspelled the word "breasts."

She nods.

Pam: More than once.

----

On some level Dwight had to admit he was grateful for what Jim had done. It had been among his lifelong dreams topple a totalitarian fascist state and he hadn't expected to have the opportunity for another few years.

At least until the next presidential election, he thought.

"Creed," Dwight was speaking only through one side of his face in the hopes that it would throw off any secret listeners, "can I speak to you?"

Creed was a nature choice for the convert to his secret army. As a member of the older generation, Creed was probably the most suspicious of anything resembling radicalism or free thought. Dwight was also fairly certain that Creed had served in the armed forces, mostly likely during World War II (or possibly World War I, he wasn't sure) and his force needed someone other than himself who had been trained to kill. The only other possibility in the regard was Stanley, and Dwight wasn't quite sure he could be trusted.

"I'm organizing a team to help bring the old ways back," Dwight said very softly, his face to the wall in case anyone could read lips. "Can I count on your support."

"No can do," Creed replied, "they've given me everything I've ever wanted."

"What could they possibly have given you to make turn against Michael?"

"They made shoes optional," Creed explained, illustrating his point by pulling his feet out from under chair and dangling them in front of Dwight.

Dwight nodded, trying to avert his gaze, but not quite able to find the strength.

----

Creed, pleasantly: Oh, it happened when I was in high school. I was trying to impress a girl...

He scratches his chin as he tries to recall the specifics.

Creed: I don't remember her name, but... that hardly seems important now.

----

They had been in line for five minutes and Pam was still no closer to discovering exactly where all this was going. Then again, given that the last revelation of the day had involved Dwight's fantasy life, maybe she was better of not knowing.

She knew Jim hated these massive chain stores, but he didn't seem to think there was much choice in the matter. No one else would have what they needed in the quantity they needed, he explained.

The fact that that very logic would soon leave them both unemployed was not lost on either one of them.

"Wow," Jim said, examining a random product from the shelf next to him. "Pam, did you know that Old Spice has created a product that can simultaneously act as soap _and_ shampoo?"

"Uh-huh," Pam replied, trying to keep her tone clipped and detached, "and how does that make you feel?"

Jim pretended to think about it for a few minutes before answering. "Frightened," he replied seriously, "yet strangely excited."

She wasn't about to chase that one. "You're up," Pam pointed out, gesturing to the now available cashier.

"Hi," Jim said crisply to the bored clerk, "I just have a few questions before we check out."

The young man behind the register tried to vivisect Jim with his eyes. He hated customers with questions. When were people going to learn to shut up, pay for their merchandise, and leave him alone?

"First off," Jim felt the key here was to speak quickly, but with total conviction, "do you except checks from the National Treasury of the Democratic Republic of Miffland?"

The clerk also hated customers who thought they were funny. "No."

Jim decided to take this defeat in stride, giving his standard shrug and moving on to the next problem. "Okay, next question," Jim hefted up a pink plastic lawn flamingo and handed it to the clerk "how many of these do you have?"

----

Pam, holding up a lawn flamingo: Ladies and gentlemen, the national bird of Halpertia.

Pause.

Pam, awkwardly: I... I don't know what Jim wants to do with them.


	5. Gorilla

**Phase FIVE: Gorilla**

Ryan had been trying his best to remain inconspicuous today, but that never seemed to work at this job.

"Hey, Temp," Dwight began, sidling up to Ryan closer than he was really comfortable with, "I need your help with something."

"I've kind of got a lot to do today," Ryan protested with as much conviction as he could muster. In truth, he had absolutely nothing to do today except perhaps some research into what it was that attracted certain coworkers to him. Could it have been pheromonal?

"But I need your help if we're going to bring Michael back," Dwight pleaded.

"He's going to be back in a few days anyway." Was he giving off pheromones?

"Not if Jim isn't stopped..." Dwight realized the soft touch wasn't working, he needed to lean on him a bit more. "Michael has been like a father to you."

"Um, I already have a father..." Ryan really tried his best not to get involve in the pranks or the rivalries.

"He's trained you," Dwight insisted, "took you in like Batman and Robin."

Ryan nodded, wishing he could just learn how to disappear completely.

"Wait..." Dwight mused, "_I _should be Robin..."

"Yeah, I got to get back to work," Ryan said, slipping away before Dwight had a chance to wake from his superhero delusion.

----

Ryan: It's not that I don't like Michael. It's just that...

He tries for some time to find a way to finish this thought, but falls short.

Eventually the camera gives up and moves on.

----

"So..." Pam handled her words as though they were made of inordinately slippery porcelain "what's up with you today?"

"Um... how do you mean?" He had hoped that she wasn't going call him on any of his behavior today. He supposed it was his own fault for letting things escalate as far as they.

"In all the time I've known you... you've never taken a prank this far." She gestures around them "into his home territory," she continued, seemingly blind to how uncomfortable he was suddenly feeling. "I'm starting to think maybe you really _are_ going mad with power."

"Well..." he trailed, praying to any and all gods that he happened to remember to just let this one slip.

"Yeah?" Apparently he had forgotten the right deity. It was probably one of the Norse gods. He was always forgetting them.

"Really, I didn't expect you to go along with this..." He kept his voice slow in a failed attempt to remain completely silent and spoke honestly because he couldn't quite think of anything else to say. "...I guess I just wanted to see how far you'd follow me."

Pam thought then that if she were in a film or a book, right then she might have said something to the effect that she would follow Jim anywhere and, what's more, she would mean what she said. Instead, all she felt was a growing unease, as if she were standing on top of a very tall building. She had absolutely no desire to pursue this line of conversation further, certainly not now, while the cameras were filming. So she did what she always did when she thought things were about to get change between Jim and herself and she made her escape. "Now, you're sure this isn't the sort of thing we could be arrested for?"

"Pam," Jim shook his and jimmed at the obviousness of it, "we have diplomatic immunity."

"Of course," Pam chuckled, happy on most levels to be back on solid ground.

Then, as she sunk another plastic flamingo into the soft turf outside the Schrute family farmhouse, treasuring for a moment the light "trrft" sound as it sank into old Pennsylvanian tundra, she had another thought. "Then..."

"Hmm?" Part of him was hoping she was going to bring back their previous topic, but he knew that wasn't going to happen. Probably for the best, anyway.

She proceeded with caution. "...Do you think this could be seen as an act of war?" She had to keep the game going, that was all.

"Against Dwight?" Jim really didn't think that constituted much of a threat.

"No," Pam corrected him, "against _the United States_."

This had slightly more troubling implications. Sure, it was all well and good separate from a major world power and steal their resources for your own, no one ever came to a bad end doing that; but entering into an active war against the most powerful military power in the world, that was possibly not the best move right now.

"Well..." Jim began, taking his time with each syllable. "When I was a kid... my mom took me to see _The Mouse That Roared_..." he turned to face Pam, keeping his voice completely deadpan "...I _think_ I remember enough to get everyone out of this alive."

Pam shook her head and got back to embedding flamingos. Sometimes, the key was to focus on the small things.

----

Pam, a bit too eagerly: Things are fine with me and Roy right now.

Pause.

Pam: Really.

----

"What are you doing?" Angela whispered from the other end the kitchen.

"No one ever has the right to rebel like that," Dwight told his coffee mug, "I thought you respected the rules."

"Things are different now," Angela patiently explained to the wall. "I've risen in the Party... I make the rules now."

Dwight bit his lip, he couldn't begin to state how much it pained him to see her turn away from the very values and morals that made him decide to start screwing her in the first place. "I thought you respected authority," he said, every word dripping with his disappointment and feeling of betrayal.

"Jim i_s_ the authority now," she replied sternly. She didn't bother to suggest that life was better now than it had been under Michael, or how much more work she was able to get done without having to deal with the single most objectionable human being in an office full of incredibly objectionable people; his loyalty to Michael was too great for that to ever work. Instead, she appealed to one of the features that attracted her to him in the first place: his logic. "If you try to overthrow him, you'll be guilty of the same crimes."

Dwight froze. This was something he had to give some thought to. Certainly he would always have moral superiority over Jim, but Angela had a point. As long as he was a citizen of this office, he was a subject to the sitting government. Since transferring was out of the question, he would either have respect that authority or risk becoming that which he had spent his whole life fighting against.

"I can't let Jim get away with this," he finally decided.

Then something in Angela changed. She turned to face him for the first time and she saw her face had become red with fury. She ran to the door and screamed for Kevin and Oscar. Dwight knew then that she had chosen her loyalty to the Party over her feelings for him. He'd always admired her conviction.

"What's up?" Oscar nearly yawned. The day was really catching up with him.

"Dwight is trying to topple the New Order," she spat with cold disgust, leaving Dwight paralyzed with fear and curious arousal.

Oscar and Kevin nodded, he sure was.

"He needs to be detained!" Angela ordered when it became clear that neither man was about to take action in the matter.

Oscar sighed. He didn't relish this unfortunate duty, but he knew if he didn't follow through a vocal segment of his constituency would never let it go. Sometimes he wondered why he entered politics in the first place. "Where do you want us to put him?"

There was, of course, only one place for sinners and insurrectionists. "The annex," she demanded, smiling.

As they dragged him away, she looked him in the face and met the nearly-crying puppy-dog eyes of one of the very few men she had ever consented to give cookie to, her smile merely widened. She turned her back and walked back to her desk, putting him out of her thoughts.

----

Angela: I _am_ the Law.

----

When Jim and Pam finally got back to the office, there was less enthusiasm for the return of the de facto ruling couple of the office than there was for the fact that they brought bagels. But this was to be expected, Jim reflected. After all, they had been in time to get enough Asiago-Parmesan bagels for everyone to have at least one, which was an Herculean achievement in and of itself. But then, Jim was the type of leader who took care of his people.

"How did it go when while we were abroad?" he asked Oscar. "No internal strife, right?"

Oscar shrugged. "Same as any other country," he reasoned. "Small but vocal fundamentalist lobby."

Jim started, he did not like where this was going. "What did she make you do?"

"I had to exile Dwight," he explained, his voice more amused than remorseful.

"Wow," Jim gasped. "Today is not going very well for him at all."

"Yeah, I know," Oscar laughed.

----

Dwight, sinister: Things might be going well for Jim now, but in the end his followers will abandon him, his nation will fall, and he will be left with _nothing._

----

Jim, amused: He really said that?

He shakes his head and smiles.

Jim: Wow.

Pause.

Jim, letting a bit of darkness seep in: He's not usually right about stuff like that.


	6. The Queen Is Dead

_I'd like to personally thank almost everyone who read this story... this one took a lot out of me, and if anyone really enjoyed, that makes it all worthwhile._

_ I'd like to thank one cat in particular for talking me down and helping me get through this one... I'm not going to say your name on the chance that this chapter bombs and you don't want to be linked to it, but... you know who you are._

_As always, reviews are greatly appreciated and a splendid time is aimed for (though by no means guaranteed) for all. _

**Phase SIX:** **The Queen Is Dead**

As Dwight fumed to himself in his place of exile deep within the annex, his thoughts were only of revenge.

Jim had taken away everything he had ever cared loved: the office that had been the site of all his greatest achievements, the only woman he'd ever done... Jim was probably behind the conspiracy that had taken Michael away from him, too.

Jim always turned everything he touched to dog waste.

But Dwight would make it right. He would win Angela back, he would restore the office to its proper order, and... if Michael was still alive... Dwight would find him and bring him home.

All he had to do was find a way to escape from the annex.

Dwight's thoughts were interrupted as the door swung open and Toby walked in. "Hi, Dwight."

"Hi, Toby," Dwight replied, more than a little annoyed to have his train of thought so derailed.

Toby took a file off of his desk and turned back the way he came. "See you later."

"Bye," Dwight snapped as the door closed behind Toby.

Now, how could he possibly get out?

----

Jim, as happy as we've ever seen him: You know, I always thought being a major world leader would be stressful or demanding, but... It's really not so bad.

----

There were probably times that Jim had enjoyed himself more while at work, but he was at a loss to name them at that moment.

He and Pam were fully invested in decorating every corner of the office with flags, banners, and signs in the now familiar white, blue, and green colors of the Sovereign Democratic Republic of New Scranton.

"I know these aren't that good," for Pam, it had become a lifelong habit to provide any occasion with an unnecessary apology, "but I really didn't have a lot of time."

"Are you kidding?" Jim countered. "Pam, these are _great_!" he said, casting his gaze across his entire domain and finding a piece of her in every part of it. "You did a great job," he beamed at her.

"Well, with the resources of a failing paper company..." she blushed.

Jim nodded regally. "We need to remember this day, Pam," he mused.

"This is our Independence Day," she agreed warmly.

----

Dwight: Jim thinks he's gotten rid of me. He thinks he's locked me up in the annex and I'm no longer a threat to his government.

The smile.

Dwight: But Jim forgot he was dealing with a Lackawanna County Volunteer Sheriff's Deputy.

The nod.

Dwight: I have spent the last hour loosening that ceiling tile.

He gestures to the board in question, right above Toby's desk.

Dwight: Now, I'm going to climb into that crawl-space and make my way back into the main office for one last, _brutal_ assault on Jim's evil empire.

----

As good as his word, Dwight used Toby's chair, desk, and a good number of his personal effects to angle himself into the hole in the ceiling. There followed a frankly shameful period of trying to use the strength and momentum of his upper half to wiggle the lower half of himself up, eventually culminating in something that could generously be dubbed successful.

About two seconds later, he discover the cheap, low-grade pressed cardboard ceiling tiles were not made to carry a grown man of his weight and built as they collapsed unceremoniously underneath him.

----

Angela: "Do I feel guilty for what I did to Dwight?"

She shakes her head with grim certainty.

Angela, with a chilling sense of righteousness: Dwight was going to violate the Law and there can be no sympathy for criminals or insurrectionists of any kind, not ever. Anyone who tries to stand against the Party will be crushed by the Party. It's as simple as that.

Pause.

Angela, considerably less convincing: Besides, I hardly know him.

----

Pam sat at Jim's computer, using this brief respite before the big celebration to settle on a few minor matters. Something earlier that day had stirred a terrible curiosity in her and, as much as she hated to think about what she might end up finding, she knew she wouldn't be able to fully concentrate on the crushing matters if state until she knew the awful truth.

Searching her memory of a few key phrases, she ran a Google search, checked a few promising pages... and finally came upon exactly what she was looking for.

It was worse than she could have dared imagine.

----

Pam: Jim was not going to like this.

----

"Do you remember that story Dwight wrote?" she asked him, her tone was almost tender, though he hesitated to label it such.

"How could I forget it?" he squinted back at her. "I don't think I'll ever be able to sleep again."

She nodded softly. "Well... I did some research and..." she paused, ostensibly because this was difficult for her to say to him, but he could tell there was also some level to her that enjoyed watching him suffer "...he's been posting it online under the name 'iamjimhalpert.'"

Gravity switched polarity and Jim found himself having a hard time keeping up with it.

"I know you're flattered, but..." The fact that she was keeping her tone comforting was hindered by the fact that she was straining not to laugh.

"What are my options here, Pam?" he asked her blankly, all his attention focused on retaining his organs.

"Well..." Pam mused "...you could give him a bad review, but... that's about it."

"No," he replied seriously, "can I have him excommunicated or something?" Never before had he been this happy to have polluted someone's front yard with twenty-seven plastic lawn flamingos.

"_No_," Pam insisted, "because you aren't the _Pope_, you're the _President_."

Jim nodded, he wished he could remember that. You'd think the sash would help, but... "So, what can the President do to Dwight?"

"More than what you've already done to his front lawn?" Pam reminded him, smiling.

"Now, Pam," he smiled, "you know that didn't count."

"Because it was a preemptive strike," she noted dutifully.

"Precisely," he replied. Somehow it was always harder to nurse a bad mood when she was in the room.

"You can refuse to issue a Pardon," she offered.

Jim quite liked this suggestion. "Excellent. Madam Executive Magistrate, please note that Dwight K Schrute is pre-refused for all Presidential Pardons."

"So noted."

----

Dwight: With this rope...

He lifts up a makeshift string he's pieced together of mostly paperclips and rubber bands.

Dwight: I intend to climb out the window, drop down into the parking lot, then force my way back into the office. And if I have to take down a few coworkers along the way, then so help me...

Toby walks into frame and grabs Dwight's rope right out of his hands.

Toby: No.

Dwight looks at him in silent shock.

Toby: Just... _no_.

----

Toby: If Dwight killed himself on the job, it would only make thing hard on everyone.

Toby shakes his head in preemptive remorse.

Toby: I mean, there are all these forms I'd have to fill out and every employee has to go through a mandatory grief consoling sessions...

Pause.

Toby: It's just more trouble than its worth...

----

Jim turned down the music blasting out his iPod stereo and tapped his spoon to bring his arrayed citizens to attention. "Hi." He looked across the room and realized that for the first time nearly a full half of his people were as close to almost actually listening him. He was so touched by the whole scene that he was very nearly moved to tears. "I just wanted to say that this revolution has succeeded beyond my wildest hopes and that's because of each and every one of _you._" He smiled directly at Pam. "I mean, we've got our own flag, money, stamps..." he shook his head in sheer amazement "...I think we can all be proud to call ourselves Flönkertonians on this, our Independence Day."

Meredith was the first feel a groundswell of patriotism. "I think we should drink to the Republic."

"Alcohol is forbidden by strict Party Law," Angela sniped stoically.

"Uh... The Party never voted on that," Kelly pointed out cautiously.

"Thought crime!" Angela screamed, pointing furiously at Kelly. "Thought crime! Get the rat mask!"

"No," Jim rushed in, placing himself between the Angela and the other women, "I don't think we're going to do _that._"

"If we don't crack down on dissidents now..." Angela cautioned.

However, whatever point she was about to make was preempted by a much more crushing emergency from Defense Secretary (Retired) Kevin Malone. "Guys, Michael just pulled into the parking lot."

----

Kevin: It's like when you're a kid and your mom comes into your room even though you told her not to...

He nods knowingly.

----

By the time Michael walked into the office, every one of his employees (except Dwight, who was still locked in the annex) had ran for the nearest desk and suddenly become very busy. It was if the whole of the office had engaged in a simultaneous game of Musical Chairs.

The fact that the room looked like it had been decorated for a four year-old's birthday party only added to the affect.

"Hey, Michael," Jim mumbled slowly, trying to think of how he could explain what had happened to the room.

Michael, however, didn't seem to notice anything out of the ordinary. "Tiny Jim," he whispered in sad acknowledgment, taking a slow swig of his Snapple.

"Um, I thought you weren't going to be back for a few days," Pam said, as though reminding him of his promise might somehow cause him to puff back out of existence.

Michael sighed painfully and let his shoulders slump down. It took he a few moments to find his voice. Every one of his employees cherished those moments. "If I could have everyone's attention please," Michael began, emotionally overwrought. Then, he said aside to Pam "Pampers, you should know that sweater has a one-boobing effect on you." Pam attempted to cover herself up more effectively while Michael pressed on. "Someone we all care about very much... Todd Packer..." Michael nearly sobbed as he said the name, "...needs all of our help right now." Michael took one last, meaningful swig from his Snapple before clattering it loudly onto Pam's counter. "This bottle is now the place to leave all donations to pay Packer's bail," he explained, indicating the bottle currently leaving sweat circles on Pam's desk, "I expect all of you to contribute and I don't want to see _anything_ smaller than a fifty!" he roared optimistically.

----

Michael: What did I learn from my adventure with Packer?

Pause.

Michael: Plenty.

Pause.

Michael, seriously: From now on, I'm not going abandon my post every time Packer calls me from Atlantic City asking me to bring him two hundred dollars.

Pause.

Michael: I had a good time, but... no more. For now on, I promise to make my job my first priority, and to always be honest, dedicated, and hard-working, just like my hero... Tina Fey.

He holds up picture, which does indeed seem to be of Tina Fey.

Michael: She signed this herself, you know... It's true, I got it on eBay, so...

Pause.

Michael: You know it's real.

----

It surprised no one that the bottle was still empty half an hour later when everyone started to go home. Jim was still at Pam's desk, writing the history of their once great nation even as the population feel into sharp decline. It had been Pam's idea that Jim should have a grandfather who was a folk hero of some kind, leading to the creation of Tin-pan Halpert, a man who was equal parts Johnny Appleseed and Daniel Boone, and who seemed to have been active throughout the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania at roughly every point in its history.

It was at that point that Roy entered. Unlike Michael, he immediately noticed the decorations festooned throughout the office and, like most of Pam's attempts to express herself, Roy's reaction was confused hostility. "Hey."

Jim and Pam turned to greet the latter's fiancée.

On some level Jim must have known that this day would end like any other day since Pam had come to work at Dunder-Mifflin, with her going home with Roy and himself going home to watch bad, bad television programs... but he'd forced it from his mind.

Too busy running a major world power, he reasoned. "Hi, Roy."

"What's all this?" Roy asked, gesturing dismissively towards Pam's hard work.

"Oh, Jim started his own country," she explained. There was something in her tone that made Jim want leap in front of a fire truck.

Roy had the confused, slightly out-of-focus expression of a dog trying to decipher exactly _where_ a particular tennis ball has been thrown. It was a familiar look for him. "You ready to go?" he asked Pam.

Jim noted (or maybe he simply _needed_ to note) a hint of reluctance in her voice, but Pam still gave her consent. She retrieved her personal affects and gave a gave her goodbyes to everyone present, which now consisted solely of Jim, Roy staring at her impatiently the whole time.

Jim was prepared to explain that he would hanging around for a bit to clean up some of the mess they'd made, but it didn't seem to be an issue. Pam and Roy disappeared together without another word to him, while his hand hung lamely in the air, in a mute, motionless, and entirely unreciprocated wave goodbye.

When he heard the door click back into place, he gave himself over to complete surrender, unceremoniously fulumping back into his chair. Reaching across his desk to his iPod, he carefully scrolled the single wheel down until he came to the song he was looking for. He pressed down gently on the slightly distended center of the iPod, letting the music envelope him. After a moment's thought, he picked up his jacket and began rifle through his pockets. After a short struggle and many false leads, he finally uncovered the treasure he'd been trying to excavate: the dollar bill Pam had drawn earlier. The one with his face on it.

He sat there, all alone in his ruined empire, and he looked at himself as she saw him.

----

Dwight is sitting on the floor of the annex, angrily examining his watch.

Dwight: When are they going to let me out of here?

He looks at the camera.

Dwight: You don't have a key, do you?

The camera shakes back and forth.

Dwight: Eff.


	7. Forever Breathes the Lonely Word

_ I'm really not too sure about this one, but I had to pay off the flamingo runner somewhere-- Hallo Jack_**  
**

**FINAL Phase: Forever Breathes the Lonely Word  
**

Jim couldn't lie about it, his time in Stamford had changed him. He'd grown up, had to take his position more seriously. The pranks hadn't stopped, but they were fewer and farther between. He was thinking about his future with Dunder-Mifflin these days, two words that he'd previously thought were mutually exclusive.

He turned another corner onto another street, cursing once again the fact that you can only put so much distance between yourself and your past when your stuck back in the town you were raised. When you knew every street, you couldn't get lost (not really) no matter how hard you tried.

He couldn't even get away from the camera crew.

For hours he wandered, his iPod set to shuffle so he wouldn't have to think about what song he wanted to listen to, as he traced and re-traced the all too familiar paths of faded grays and dying browns that made up the Pennsylvanian landscape that peaked out from underneath the crisp white snow that covered the whole drab watercolor scene.

The old Jim didn't jog, he thought glumly.

As he once again comes within a few minutes walk of his house, his favorite song found its way into his earbuds, which he took as being as good as sign to call it a day as any.

He could feel Scranton all around him. Under his feet, in the chilled air around him. This was his past. This was the place where he had been king for a day.

This was, as much he might try to escape from it, where he belonged.

As he closed the distance he had just spent the better part of his Saturday putting between himself and his house, he noticed something completely unexpected.

Dotting the snow-blanketed field that was his front yard were what seemed to be a least a hundred lawn flamingos, each one painted with the familiar flag Pam had designed for him last year. A banner hung over his door that read "Happy Independence Day, Jim."

His breath stopped. He didn't know when she could have found the time to get this all done, but he knew she must have done it all herself.

He wondered if he should knock before entering his own house and he wondered if he had any tea.

**Good Night and Thank You.**


End file.
